


London's Lecter

by Kai_tan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And not the good kind of Graphic Description, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Graphic Description, How to Tag 101, Minor Violence, Reader-Insert, Relationship(s), Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kai_tan/pseuds/Kai_tan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was intended to be a not-so-short-anymore story surrounding a case you find yourself working on, taking place during Season 3.<br/>It's inspired by the Pilot Episode of "Hannibal".<br/>[...]<br/>“Yes, wonderful, missing daughter, most likely dead by now. Not interesting enough for me. Thank you for coming here and wasting my time.” John shook his head at Sherlock's words, while he stood up and approached the door to fling it open and throw the dumbfounded client out. The father got up and hesitantly turned to the tall, dark haired man who was still dressed in his night gown. “She- she's not missing anymore.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	London's Lecter

“M-my cat Jasper has gone missing and-” - “Next!” - “So, before my grandmother died she gave me this ancient coin and it's rumored to be-” - “Boooring.” - “A year ago my husband started to act.. different. What if he's having an affair?” - “Yes ma'am, it's blindingly obvious he's having one.”

Upon the last comment of Sherlock's the door of the apartment closed with a loud bang, the client storming off. You had just left the kitchen with two cups of tea for your friends, the doctor and friend you have known for quite a while already, John Watson, and your new flatmate and a well-known detective around there, Sherlock Holmes. Placing the two steaming cups on the small table in front of them you plopped down onto the couch with your own tea. It's been 4PM by now, and to you it seemed like the day was just utterly packed with clients. Small driblets seemed to fall outside the window, signaling a slight rain coming for the evening. You took a sip of the tea as Sherlock gave a defeated sigh, his eyebrows drawn slightly together in irritation as he closed his eyes. John had a little smile on the face of his, taking the cup from the table and mouthing a 'thank you' into your direction. You nodded in acknowledgment, then continued off to shamelessly study the face of the detective you have got to know in the last three weeks of living here.

 

John had moved out when Sherlock had faked his death, and you were starting your life over just as soon as he returned, wanting to never return to your old memories and finally opening up for what you loved to do – but what was missing, was the money for your own flat. John had helped you, offering his old room and you gladly accepted it, although getting used to the quirks of the man you're living with now was rather hard. Playing Cluedo, Operation or even... “Deduction” as Sherlock called it. Playing his violin after midnight, sleeping even longer than you sometimes did, shooting something or doing something else that was completely ridiculous when he was bored, storing dead things in the fridge, and sometimes strike up arguments about the most unimportant and irrelevant things. Well at least he wasn't throwing you out of the flat, right? After all you were paying the rent together anyways. Still, he would sometimes appreciate your opinion on a case, and sometimes allowed you - well, more like made you run errands for him - to work with him on cases, what earned you bits of money, while making your most desired hobby in the world into a little private business, which seemed to get better with every customer - which were rare.

John's marriage to Mary was still months away, and they didn't think of it as being necessary to start with the preparations as of now. John hadn't even decided who to pick as his best man yet, but you had an idea in your head of whom he'd take, and it drove you a bit... well, mad. Because you know how he would react, but didn't know if he was able to handle it, or if he even _could_ handle it.

 

You let out a tired sigh and closed your eyes for a split second as you heard someone stand up from their seat – by the way he did it and what sound it made, it was clear that it was Sherlock. He was bored. He needed a case. Or he'd pull one of his tricks again like pretending not to know how to defuse a bomb. Or shooting around the apartment. Or burning something. Or playing games. Which you and John were not in the mood for at all. Then, just as you thought about it, you heard the familiar baritone voice calling out: “Booreeeeed! John! (Name)! I need an interesting killer! All of the others are so dull.” You opened your eyes to find the man childishly hanging upside down from his seat. There was something building up in you, let's call it 'anger', thanks to his comment. You wanted to say how he could care more for the lives that were lost in those oh-so 'dull' cases, but you preferred not to do so. You stayed silent for his sake, and your own.

John rolled his eyes and opened up his laptop, checking their blogs and the news for anything. His eyebrows drew together slightly as he read out aloud in a confused manner: “Young women gone missing. All of the same physical appearance and age. None of them ever found again...” With each word, John went more and more silent. Sherlock got up from his seat and paced around the living room. “Most likely some psychopath with women problems, trying to compensate over the loss of someone. Probably killed them all one after another or he's keeping a hidden dungeon with all of them in there, making himself some kind of love-harem. Next!” It seemed like he was trying to make a joke of some sort. You got up from your seat, almost spilling some of the tea you still clutched in one hand, then placed it onto the small table. “Oh what the hell Sherlock, stop being so desperate for more cases, it's like you're some kinda junkie---!” Your outburst was suddenly stopped by the shrill sound of the doorbell. Sherlock immediately stopped. “Under 1.5 seconds, obviously nervous or indecisive.” John closed his laptop and took a deep breath before leaning back in his seat. “Must be a client?” The consulting detective's face flashed a big smile as an answer.

 

A man stood in the doorway. _In his young 40's, light brown, short and not-taken-care-of hair, stubble on his chin, some kind of blue eyes which seem quite hollow. He looks pale, absolutely sick. There's a strange stain on the corner of his mouth, and he doesn't smell too fresh either. Did he vomit? Might as well didn't eat anything lately, at least he sure looks like it. Clothes were randomly put together and thrown on without much thought. His socks don't match._ Your thoughts were rambling on and on, followed by looking over your shoulder to Sherlock who shot you a questioning gaze, to which you nodded and let the man in. He stuttered an unsure “thanks” to you and held onto to his leather-jacket tightly, which reminded you of John's. Speaking of which... “Here, have a seat!” The army doctor gave him a warm smile and led the pale man to the client-seat. You followed him, bent over slightly to see his frightened face and ask as politely as you could: “Tea, sir?” He slowly nodded, looked you over for a moment, before watching as Sherlock slowly slumped himself into his seat, hands in his normal kind of 'praying' position and his legs crossed. John took his own place, while you swiftly collected the now cold cups of tea, and entered the kitchen anew to prepare some once again.

 

“Talk. Tell us everything.” Sherlock insisted as he made his deduction in his mind, the man being most likely a worried father. But was there more? “Yeah, uhm, well, I already talked this through with the police but they aren't coming any further in their investigation it seems. So.. so I figured I should come here. I-It's about my daughter, Kate.” Sherlock threw his head back and sighed. Of course, he was right. Annoyed he looked back up, waiting for him to go on. You entered the living room once more, having heard pretty much every word and placed a tray with tea on the table, getting a cup and handing it to the client. He smiled nervously and took it from you, taking a quick sip while you sat down onto the ground between John's and Sherlock's seats, listening closely. “Kate.. she wanted to visit us on Friday, since.. she's been busy with college and all, y-you know. Her mother and I were attending a birthday of an old friend of ours, and we figured since she must be tired, we left her alone.. ah, uhm, but, with her cat.” Now John rolled his eyes. He didn't seem to fancy cats quite much. Did it have something to do with the case concerning the murder of Connie Price? You tried your best not to smile or let any sound escape you. “We.. last saw her around 5PM on Friday before we drove off. The drive takes some time, and.. we came back on Saturday morning around 7AM. And hours later we realized that.. our daughter didn't seem to get up. I thought she might still be sleeping, b-but.. as I stood in front of her room, Jaime, the cat, scratched on it. As I opened it... there was no one there. I tried to call her, but her phone was just.. lying there. On her night stand. Sh-she's been missing for 4 days now..” The consulting detective straightened himself and held a hand up to stop him. “Yes, wonderful, missing daughter, most likely dead by now. Not interesting enough for me. Thank you for coming here and wasting my time.” John shook his head at Sherlock's words, while he stood up and approached the door to fling it open and throw the dumbfounded client out. The father got up and hesitantly turned to the tall, dark haired man who was still dressed in his night gown. “She- she's not missing anymore.”

 

Sherlock froze in his movements. You looked up at John who returned the way you gazed at him. _What does he mean?_ “...so there's another reason to it, that you are here, Mister...” The client relaxed as he realized that he had the detective's interest once again. Clutching onto his coat tighter he stuttered a: “H-Hopkins” as an answer. “I see. So, Mr. Hopkins, why _exactly_ are you here then?” The high-functioning sociopath slowly returned to his seat while never leaving Mr. Hopkins, the client, out of sight, like an animal stalking it's prey. The pale man swallowed and sat down again, reaching out for the cup that he placed in front of him to take another sip. “My.. my daughter, she was returned.” Sherlock folded his hands under his chin while listening. “She _was_ returned?” You knew it meant that she had to be dead by then. With shaking hands he emptied the tea and placed the porcelain down. He then continued his story: “Uh-uhm, yeah. There was no sign of a forced break-in, so the police assumed she must have run away. But.. why would she? She wouldn't have any motives. So.. today, again, in the morning, her c-cat Jaime continued to meow in front of her room. He would've wanted to go inside, and I thought that it would be a good opportunity to look through her things.. you know, because of sentiment." The great consulting detective did not really know. "A-and then I opened her door and.. there she was. Lying perfectly still in her bed.. dear god.. and.. and when I approached her she was holding something between her folded hands.. flowers. Bloody _flowers_ that were sticking out of _flesh_.” His face twisted and his expression looked ill. You didn't feel very well either at this point. John was rather disturbed, and Sherlock's eyes seemed to be shining a bit brighter. Preparing yourself, you took a deep breath and looked up at the now slightly heavier breathing father. “Out of her.. flesh? Like her skin?” You asked in a small voice. He shook his head. “I... I didn't dare to touch her before the police arrived. They later told me she'd been holding her own liver in her hands.. that's where the flowers were placed in. My poor, poor Kate.. why would someone do this?” The client started sobbing and covered his face with his hands. John stood up and stumbled towards the client, pat him on his back and shot the detective a short glance. “I'm sorry to hear such a thing, Sir. It's absolutely...” - “Brilliant”, Sherlock interrupted John. Everyone, including you, watched curiously as the consulting detective showed a smile growing on his face and jumped over to the shocked father to help him stand up from the seat. “Mr. Hopkins, I will gladly take your case.” Kate's father was utterly baffled. His mouth moved, but no words came from it, only broken sounds, reminding you of a goldfish gasping for air. Sherlock threw his night gown onto his chair and accompanied the father to the entrance of the flat. “Where is your daughter now?” - “Th-the police took them with her, probably with a forensic's team..” You lifted your head and raised an eyebrow to the detective who was gleefully smiling. “Bart's?” He nodded. “Come on now John, (Name)”, he said, motioning you two to come over to him. You finally got up from your position and brushed non-existing dust of your clothes. “The game--”, before the overly-excited sociopath could end his catchphrase you and the army doctor exchanged glances that clearly read _please don't say it_ , but he couldn't be stopped: “..is on!”

 

After rushing down the stairs and everyone getting ready, you got a cab and headed straight for the St. Bart's Hospital. You lifted your trench coat over your head to avoid getting wet since it did start raining when you left Baker Street. The white walls and the bright lights made you temporarily blind as you entered the building, following the detective and ex-soldier swiftly to the laboratories. Sherlock threw open the doors to it, only to shock a blonde in a lab-coat. “O-ooh, Sherlock, it's you!”, she stammered as she withdrew from the microscope she was looking through. She eyed you curiously for a moment. Yeah, it's actually the first time since moving in that you are fully involved in a case, but you were glad to _actually_ watch the detective and his loyal companion at work. “Molly, we need you. Has there been a corpse that was recently delivered under the name of 'Kate Hopkins'?” Molly Hooper, stuttering out loose letters in the sudden way she was asked, tried to make out if the name sounded familiar. “Well, before noon there was a body delivered. It was a young woman with dark hair. Her upper body was cut open and her liver removed.” John shook visibly for a moment before approaching Molly and nodding. “Yeah uhm, that's probably our client's daughter. May we see her?” Molly hesitated, but nodded and stormed off to the Morgue, you and the two men going as well.

As you entered the cold room a body was lying on some sort of table, covered. The blonde stood in front of it and lifted the covers, revealing the icy body of a young girl with dark brown hair. John and Sherlock examined her while you stood back a bit, watching as Molly fumbled with a folder. “H-her name really is Kate Hopkins. She was strangled and cut open postmortem.” The consulting detective lifted his hand to stop her in the tracks of explaining, while he got out his magnifying glass of the coat pocket with the other. She stopped instantly and looked you over once again. In an uncertain voice she asked: “So.. who- who are you?” You were a bit startled by her question. Well, you couldn't blame her if she sounded suspicious, you pretty much just walked in there with an army-doctor and high-functioning sociopath by your side without losing a word. “Friend of mine”, Sherlock flatly answered while continuing to look at the corpse. You flashed the blonde a quick smile. “Yeah.. sort of. I'm (Name, Last Name). I was allowed to take over John's room, so I moved in with Sherlock about 3 weeks ago. Was never really part of a big case so no one's really seen me around much.” - “Aah, I see. I think Lestrade mentioned something about a person living with Sherlock again.” She nodded, understanding, then again facing the file. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade knew you thanks to the errands you ran for Sherlock when he was on a case and asked you for some help. Now that you were thinking about him, what was he up to lately? He's been frustrated with a case, at least so he told you.

As you were thinking, Sherlock backed away from the body and drew the covers laying on the corpse down to the hips, so that the whole stitched cut was now visible. “She's been strangled with gloves, he wanted to make sure no prints were left behind. He cut her open about 12 hours later, removing her liver.. and just the day before she was returned, he sewed her up again. Although, some of the stitches seem quite new..” John came closer to Molly, seemingly distracted. “Was.. anything else missing?” She sighed. “Well, I wanted to take a look at her insides, so I opened her up and.. her lungs and her heart are missing. I assume the.. murderer kept those for.. whatever reason.” - “In what condition is her liver?” The blond, short man again stepped closer to the corpse and inspected her. Molly gave a quick excuse to get the liver, while Sherlock walked over to the table and grabbed the file. He read aloud: “Kate Hopkins. Age 19, female. Dark-brown hair, blue eyes. Strangled. Cut open and organs removed postmortem, was then sewn up,” he sighed and muttered: “..nothing that's not new to me.” John sat down on a chair that was standing next to the metal table Kate's lifeless body was lying on. “But what would he use her organs for? Why return the liver, and why even return _her_? Isn't that unthoughtful of him?” The dark, curly haired man gave a deep sigh once more and put away his magnifying glass. “Yes, why indeed John.” The ex-soldier looked up at his friend and you. “Maybe the liver wasn't good enough? What if he's selling the organs at a black market?” You drew your eyebrows together in confusion. A black market didn't seem quite right to you. Not with the intentions the killer had. “I don't think so, John. Maybe he didn't realize early enough that something was wrong with her liver and therefore, he wasn't able to.. honor her the right way. That's why he brought her back, even sewed her up. The way he sliced her open is clearly professional, like... like it was made with a hunting knife. This wasn't his first time killing this way.” Your gaze was fixed to the ground, therefore you didn't realize the two men gazing at you curiously. The doctor was rather impressed by what you said to him, but he still thought that the black market may be a solution. Looking up again you stepped closer to Sherlock, determination in your eyes. “You think Greg knows something?” He was utterly irritated by your question. “Greg?” - “Lestrade, Sherlock. She's talking of Lestrade”, John remarked as he stood up, seeing as Molly approached once again. “The client did indeed mention the police. You might be right”, the sociopath whispered before she stopped in front of them, holding a jar filled with some strange liquid and inside was.. well, a liver. Handing it to the blond man he examined it closely, his mind concentrating as his blue eyes stared at the organ. Silence filled the room while you awkwardly exchanged glances with the detective. _Yeah I think he wants me to go ask Lestrade later_ , you told yourself before continuing to watch John at work. He then drew his head back and placed the jar into Molly's hands. “A tumor. She.. she had cancer.”

 

You walked into the bureau building of Scotland Yard, because – just as you thought – Sherlock thought it'd be a great idea to split tasks. You'd try to make out if there were any connections to other cases, and go buy milk and biscuits. The consulting detective on the other hand decided to go home and think for himself, not wanting to be disturbed of course. Thinking back you remember John mentioning that he'd go off to work again. You should probably tell that to Sherlock too, since he might not have noticed that, but nevertheless, right now you were busy. As you entered the hall some heads popped up, looking at you as if you were an exotic creature. Stepping closer to Lestrade's office you heard a voice calling out to you. “If it isn't the freak's new assistant!” Donovan. You looked over your shoulder to see the woman grinning at you like you were her victim, arms crossed. “What're you doin' here?” - “Actually, I'm here to talk to Greg. Could you excuse me?” You tried your best to stay polite, although you were sometimes feeling like 'kindly' reminding her, that your flatmate was not a freak. “On another case, huh? Well, just go then, but I think Sherlock does you no good. Making you his slave.. you're not even getting anything as a reward, are you?” You looked straight ahead, trying to suppress your anger. “He's tolerating my existence and sharing a flat with me. I think that is quite enough.” She scoffed. “He's a bloody psychopath! I have already warned John Watson, and I will warn you: there is a reason he does not have any friends.” You felt something snap inside of you. Why would someone call someone as brilliant as Sherlock such horrendous things? You turned back to her. “He's a high-functioning sociopath who opened up to considering people close to him, so do your _fucking_ research.” You kept your voice calm wile spatting out the last part of your rage fit with a forced smile, but upon seeing the reaction on her face your crooked smile broke into an amused one. She could really be rude, but you burned it _good_. Feeling better you continued your way to Lestrade's office.

 

“Greg?”, you asked with a small smile on your face, knocking on his door and, without a reply, opening the door to his office. He raised an eyebrow at you while he was looking over the edge of his cup of coffee. He sat down his coffee and observed you rather surprised. “(Name), what are you doing here? Not that I'm not glad to see you here but.. knowing that you are seeing me, it probably has something to do with a case”, he remarked in a sarcastic voice. Offering you a seat opposite of him you gladly took it and smiled in an apologetic way. “Yeah, kinda. Sorry to bother you, but Sherlock insisted I'd ask you about some cases”, _after I even mentioned the idea,_ you thought, although still smiling for the detective inspector in front of you.

“Well, go ahead then.” - “This morning, the dead body of Kate Hopkins was brought back into the home of her family by her murderer. Remember?” Lestrade's face twitched slightly. “Yeah. Was a horrible thing to see... what about her?” You got out a little leather-bound notebook and a pencil. “You see Greg, I-- we assume that her killer has murdered before by the way he had done it. Has there been any case or strange thing she's connected to?” Greg hopped up from his chair and looked around his office instantly when you mentioned if there were cases that might have been related to her. He scratched the back of his head: “Yeah, I remember that she was connected to the missing young women case.. goddamn it, where did I put that? It was the case that's been frustrating me the most lately. During our newest case it was just like before, as soon as they were gone.. there was no sign of a break-in. But due to the fact that she was returned.. all victims probably knew their murderer... or so I assume.” He finally noticed something just below other folders on his desk – the thing he's been looking for. “Here, look! She was reported missing on Saturday, and because it was done just the same way as with the other girls we assumed we'd not find anything, but now something has changed. The killer brought her _back_. We thought it might give us a clue about where he lives but.. nothing.” The pepper-head-haired man slid the file over to you while you took a closer look.

“Alyssa Nickels, age 19, female, reported as missing. Dark-brown hair, blue eyes. Jeanne Hemmington, age 19, female, reported as missing. Dark-brown hair, blue eyes... Louise Graham, age 19, female, reported as missing. Dark-brown hair, blue... they.. they all seem so similar.” Lestrade crossed his arms while watching you. “Yeah, and the strangest thing is, that they all were about same height and weight as well! There were about five girls gone missing, Kate Hopkins was number six.” You suddenly remembered something. Didn't John read an article on the internet about young girls gone missing with the same appearance?

_So... it was connected after all._ **BzzBzz.** The irritating buzzing of your phone ripped you back, quickly you fumbled it out of your trousers and unlocked the screen.

A message.

 

_Where's John? - SH_

 

You sighed in irritation as you read it and then excused yourself to turn your back on Lestrade and text the sociopath.

 

\-- He told me to tell you that he was off to work. You were already stuck in your mind palace, and I, for my part, was busy. Still am actually. - (Initials)

 

_You could have texted it to me. Are you at Gerold's office? - SH_

 

– _..._ yeah, I'm with Lestrade. - (Initials)

 

_Hurry up then, I'm bored now. Don't forget the milk and the biscuits. – SH_

 

Scoffing at the last message you packed away your phone and turned back to Greg. “I.. I need to hurry Greg. Sherlock needs my assistance. Mind if I borrow the case-files?”, you asked, quickly scooping those up from the table, which you needed. He looked a bit baffled. “Uh-- sure, go ahead, but return them soon!” A smile crossed your face and you nodded, storming out of the office. Some of the puzzle pieces were slowly coming together in your mind.. but you didn't seem to see through these things clearly. You would need his advice for sure. What did Sherlock mention again? A psychopath that is compensating over a loss of someone? But why would that someone be so young? The psychopath himself probably has a daughter.. but what is he doing to his victims? Why do they never return except for _this time_? You exited the building of the New Scotland Yard and stopped in your tracks, hesitating. It was still raining and you needed to keep the files dry so you stuffed them under your coat and just stormed off , trying not to get too wet. You entered the nearest shop you could find, stuffed a plastic bag you got with milk,biscuits and other things you probably would make a use of, since Sherlock mostly kept.. well.. not edible things in the fridge. Paying for everything you got you stumbled out of the store and sprinted off to 221B Baker Street.

 

A black wooden door, golden letters and numbers spelling out “221B” and a handle below it, that was slightly crooked to the right stood in front of you. The rain was still pouring down on your head, and by now your clothes were drenched, and it felt like your trench-coat was soaked in water. _I hope the files are fine._

Fumbling with the keys you finally opened the door to the apartment and stormed inside, letting warmth overflow your shaking body. You threw the plastic bag to the ground, getting off your coat and hanging it to the others. A door creaked near you, and you turned to see Mrs. Hudson coming out of her apartment. “Oh dear, are you alright?”, she swooped over to you, examining you closely while you tried to inhale the warm air around you. “Y-yeah, I might just.. need something to warm me up.. a-and fresh clothes.” You held the case files close to your body. Her face frowned, looking up the stairs and back at you. “Oh it was Sherlock, wasn't it? Go upstairs dear, I will make you a cuppa.” She gave you a light pat and turned away just as quickly as she appeared in front of you. You grabbed the bag and held the cases in the other hand, slowly ascending the stairs and trying to open the door to the apartment's living room.

“I... I'm back!”, you exclaimed, trying to suppress the urge to sneeze by the huge amount of dust in the room.. and probably because you were about to get sick. A noise came from the kitchen and you made your way to it as you saw the mad detective looking through a microscope. On the kitchen table were lying several.. flowers. Some kind of orchids to be exact. Without looking up at you he plainly said: “I assume you finally got the milk--” - “And biscuits, yes your majesty, just as you asked me to”, you interrupted his sentence with an annoyed grin, placing the bag on a seat near the table. “Mrs. Hudson is making us tea”, you stated while looking over the flowers, then pushing them aside and placing the files next to them. Sherlock looked up from his experiment to the files. “You might want to dry them”, he said while letting his gaze get the better of you. You stood there in your drenched clothes hugging your pale skin and body tight. His eyes widened just slightly, and with an almost frown he emerged from the kitchen. “No, no, this is _not_ good. Don't you dare get sick (Name)!” _Yes, because otherwise I am no use to you,_ you told yourself in your head, rolling your eyes at him. You watched him sit down into his seat while dazing off into distance and thought. “Take a look at the files I brought you, I.. will take a bath and change. Milk and biscuits are in the bag.” You weren't even sure if he listened to you, but you just turned away to the room that once belonged to John, got comfortable clothes, and made your way to the bath.

 

In your comfy clothes and your hair being still slightly damp and wavy you re-entered the living room area to see Sherlock, sitting on his minimal cleaned desk, hovering over papers of the file with a board above him, adding everything that seemed to be of importance. On the small coffee table between the two seats was a plate of hot tea, cups, biscuits and milk. “Mrs. Hudson was already here, I take it?”, you asked absent-minded, while pouring yourself a cup and adding only a bit of milk. The focused detective only nods while now getting the board – overflowing with information – and hanging it above the client couch. Your eyes were focusing a bit more on the windows and what you could see outside. It didn't stop raining yet, but it sure has gotten darker, as it was becoming night. Your phone emitted a muffled sound of vibration, ripping you out of your thoughts. **BzzBzz.** Another message?

 

_You two doing alright with the case? - John_

 

Smiling at your screen you sat down at what was once his seat, taking a quick sip of tea, and texting him back immediately.

 

– Yeah, we might have a trace. Remember the news report you read aloud today that was dismissed as boring? Seems like it is actually connected to our case now. - (Initials)

 

_Great! Keep me updated, and good luck. - John_

 

You put your phone down next to the tray, placing your cup of tea back on it and stood up. Slowly you approached the board above the couch, then exchanged glances with Sherlock. He only held eye contact with you for brief seconds, before clearing his throat and directing attention at the board with the clues.

“So (Name), show me what you got”, a triumphant smile never leaving his face. You sure had proved every now and then today that you actually were a quite good worker, but what about your actual assumption of this case, and how far you have gotten? One thing was sure though, although not being a competitive person, you wanted to swipe his stupid smile of his face. You approached the board with confidence.

 

“Well.. as it seems we have a psychopath running around, catching off young women of identical appearance, one after another. Currently we're at the sixth victim, but different about her is that she was returned. Although, not everything of her. He somehow makes use of their organs I assume.” You turned to face the consulting detective with crossed arms. “Specific questions?” Not avoiding the opportunity to see what your guesses in relation with the case were, he rushed right into it. “Why are they of same appearance?” - “He's compensating about a loss, as you said so yourself this morning. There's a young women in his life, that has either left him, or is about to leave. He takes each victim to represent her, have a part of her with him, although not actually using her for it. Maybe she's still alive and he doesn't want to kill her, but neither does he want to deal with her going away. Maybe a daughter, going off to college. Nevertheless... when he has dealt with one victim, he continues off to another. The lengths of the time gaps in between the individual cases are too irregular, there's not a clear pattern to it. Their bodies are never found because he uses them completely.” - “Why was there never a break-in, to any of the houses?” - “Greg thinks that the victims all knew the psychopath. I indeed think they do.. but how could they trust them so quickly? There's nothing that connects them apart from their appearance. They probably didn't know him too long though.. just temporarily, and enough time to build enough trust for a meet-up, and eventually get killed. Although, I still ask myself if he paid as much attention as he did while returning Kate's body.” - “Why do you dismiss the idea of a black market?” - “It could still be one, but I just think it's too cliché. And why would he then return one of the bodies if he could just depose of it?” - “Why _didn't_ he do so?” You became slightly annoyed. It was as if he just wanted you to summarize everything you both already had. “Kate Hopkin's wounds were taken care of after she was long dead. It's almost like an apology. He came back with her, because she had cancer. Her liver was not good enough for him. So he couldn't honor her his way, couldn't... deal with her like with the others.” - “How does he deal with the others?” - “He kills them first. Then he uses... probably everything. Their organs primarily though.”

 

The rain was pattering against the window, like light taps on glass. It was silent for a bit, and you finally got to relax after you rambled nonstop. A clock was heard ticking in the background. Sherlock sighed, leaning his head back. He was wearing a frustrated expression, which probably meant he was just as far as you, and didn't come any further. Straightening himself a bit to examine the board, he eyed you closely and hissed:

“What do _you think_ he uses them for?”

You walked past him, pacing around the apartment. _He's not searching, he's keeping them with him. He uses them completely. He wants them to be a part of him._ Your train of thoughts suddenly came to a stop, as you thought of something utterly ridiculous, and something that might as well be completely wrong, terrifying, but.. in a world like this, something to be considered.

“He wants his beloved one to stay with him. He wants to have a part of her be a part of _him_. So.. in order to accomplish it...-”, voice breaking, you shook your head, thinking about how absolutely wrong it would be to think of such a horrible thing. Sherlock slowly approached your seemingly frightened form, not knowing how to react, yet his voice stayed strong and insistent. “(Name). Continue.” You realized he was slowly coming towards you to study your now light shaking body, his face showing only irritation.

Forcing your with fear overcome voice out of your tightening throat it sounded hoarse. You avoided looking at his form, and let a slightly crooked smile grow. Eyes burning now you blinked, and halfheartedly added a chuckle to make it sound like a stupid joke. _How you wished it was one._

“He eats them.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know a lot of people like to skip notes at the beginning, so here.  
> Hey there. Yeah, you, reading this.  
> First of all, if you made it this far, I honestly have to thank you for making it to the end of the first chapter.  
> I hope you somehow enjoyed it this far, and yes, I will continue. Although this isn't going to be very long, maybe 3 Chapters.  
> If you haven't noticed by now (or haven't read the summary), it is inspired by the pilot episode of the Series Hannibal.  
> Lovely show. Ahem, anyway, it is not supposed to be a Cross-Over, so you will not actually find Doctor Lecter or Will Graham here.  
> This is the actual first Reader-Insert ever that I think is good enough to be posted online.  
> A friend of mine encouraged me to post them, because it would help me get motivated, so. Yeah.  
> Although posting regularly will be hard.  
> I'm trying not to make the Reader too Mary-Sue-ish, or Canon Characters too OOC, so if you think something is going wrong with that, or think I don't explain enough in the story over all, just tell me about it.  
> I don't have anyone that beta-reads it, so.. it might seems confusing, while I think I've explained more than enough.
> 
> So, TL;DR:  
> Please tell me if there are any logical/grammar/spelling mistakes, and I'll try to improve it.


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